


The Fort (and other drabbles)

by Atisketatasket26



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29338629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atisketatasket26/pseuds/Atisketatasket26
Summary: The millennial fantasy of building a fort for.....reasons.Other miscellaneous one-shots to be included in new chapters.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Smut is not my forte, but I decided to try it out for fun.

You couldn’t remember whose idea the fort was. You tried to hide your annoyance, either way. It was way too much work, collapsing in on itself three times before finally, it seemed sturdy. The two of you took a step back to admire your hard work. It was a splendid contraption of sheets, pushed together sofas, every pillow in the house all contorted together in a sort of wigwam. He had strung the Christmas lights around the domed ceiling, but only because he was taller. This was a creation of equal merit to you both, maybe the best you had built. It had taken an entire afternoon, but lockdown offered little other entertainment.  
Now, here you were inside your pillow fort, with him inside you. Maybe it had been built for such pursuits, who could say. You had barely made it through the opening credits of the movie before his hands found you. Sliding expertly up your thighs, pushing clothing out of the way. You had caught a jagged breath as his guitar-calloused fingers met your sensitive skin.  
“Is this okay?” he whispered, kissing you. You leaned into him.  
“Absolutely,” you managed, coming up for air. He groaned slightly, kissing down your neck as his fingers explored you. He grinned madly at every gasp he elicited.  
He removed his hand, using it now to remove your pajama shorts completely. He kissed down your stomach, and you wriggled in anticipation. Then, finally, you felt his stubble on your thighs, he teased you with his tongue. He knew exactly how to work you, and it didn’t take long until you were completely unwound, twisting and grasping at the sheet-lined floor of the fort.  
“Get up here,” you panted. He looked up at you, eyes dilated with lust. He crawled up to you slowly, methodically, making you wait, building anticipation. You pushed his sweatpants out of the way as soon as he was within reach, desperate to speed up the process, desperate for him.  
You buried your hands in his hair, pushing it back so you could watch his face as he entered you. He groaned at the sensation, moving his hips just so, giving you a second to adjust. You let one hand roam down his back, fingernails lightly tickling his skin, until it settled on his ass. Gripping tightly, you bucked your hips upwards to meet his quickening thrusts. He growled lightly, catching your bottom lip in his teeth. Your hands began to roam again, clinging onto his shoulders as he neared the end, switching up the rhythm now, leaving you guessing at each collision. Until finally, you lost yourself again, head tilting back, listening to his quiet groans as he joined you.  
Afterwards, gasping for air, still entangled, he chuckled softly.  
“Whose idea was the fort? Mine or yours?”  
You shook your head, your mind still hazy.  
“I don’t know, but one of us is a genius,” you replied, tracing patterns down his spine.


	2. The Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hijinks and fluff

You had been sleeping so soundly, there wasn’t even dreaming. Just thick, enveloping darkness. A yelp, like that of a wounded animal, pierced through the night air, yanking you back to consciousness. Eyelids still heavy with sleep, you listened to a cacophony of noise; several items clattering to the floor, something heavy hitting the wall, something falling against the door. One arm reached out, patting the bed beside you. Empty. Now, you were fully awake and terrified.  
“Andrew?” you whispered to the night air. No answer. You grabbed your cell phone from the nightstand, switching it on. You held it up, slowly panning it across your bedroom. What the hell happened? The various chotskies and knick-knacks that peppered your dresser had been sent flying, scattered now across the room. The lamp had been knocked over, and now leaned precariously against the wall. Then you spotted him, lanky legs stretched out in front of him, body slumped against the door. You threw the cover back, leaping out of the bed.  
“Andrew?” you crouched in front of him. He looked up at you, dazed. Shit, you thought, was he concussed? “Andrew, are you okay?” You were still naked, he at least had put on boxers to do whatever the hell it was he had been doing that landed him here. You leaned closer, flashlight shining, the beam landed on something bright red dripping down his forehead.  
“Shit!” you swore out loud this time.  
“I’m okay,” he managed. But, at that exact moment, his hand slid into his hair, and landed on something wet. He pulled his hand away, now covered in blood. You reached over, flipping the light on. You moved in fast forward, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and the first t-shirt you laid hands on. He had made it to his feet, but seemed woozy. You sat him down on the corner of the bed, helping him into his pants like a little kid. You grabbed a shirt off the floor, putting it on him.  
“You need stitches,” you informed him gravely. “We have to go to urgent care, come on.” You paused long enough to grab a washcloth from the linen closet, tossing it to him so he could try to stop the bleeding. He awkwardly squished his feet half into his shoes, and you slipped on a pair of flip flops, never minding that it was below freezing. He was ghostly white as he followed you to your car.  
Neither of you spoke until you had made it to urgent care, and signed him in. You sat, filling out his paperwork, while he held the washcloth to his head. Finally, you had to know.  
“What did you do?” You asked him.  
“Hit my head on the corner of the dresser,” he explained quietly.  
“Okay. But, how?” His pale face suddenly reddened.  
“I, ehm, was frightened.” You furrowed your brows, studying his face. He looked as if had survived some terrible battle, little streaks of blood now dried on his face.  
“By, what?” A horrible thought crossed your mind. “Do I have mice?!”  
He shook his head, grimacing at the sharp pain that caused.  
“There was some sort of…..light. On the bookshelf. I caught it out of the corner of my eye, and it startled me. I lost my footing, tripped and fell into the dresser.”  
“A light? On the bookshelf?” You were more confused than ever. Andrew just shook his head at you, grimacing again.  
“I, it’s so fucking embarrrassing. I thought it was a ghost.”  
“Oh.” You nodded, and then suddenly laughed. You had only just noticed he was wearing your flowery Stevie Nicks t-shirt, and that it was on backwards. You glanced down, yep. As you suspected, you had on his black tee, stretched tight against you. It was inside out.  
“Andrew,” you giggled, nodding at his shirt. He couldn’t help it then, his grim mood melted away.  
“We’re complete trainwrecks,” he chuckled. 

Andrew lay on the examining table, staring up at the ceiling. He looked exhausted, and for a moment your heart broke for this poor idiot. You sat in the chair next to him, grasping his hand.   
"Andrew, I'm sorry," you lamented.   
"It's grand," he assured you. "At least I had already gone to the bathroom before I saw the ghost. That would have been truly embarrassing." You couldn't help but laugh, quickly stopping yourself as the doctor came in. He was young, probably a resident, and seemed rather frazzled. He stood in front of you, hands buried in his lab coat pockets, studying the two of you for a second.  
"Laceration on the forehead?" he drawled. You nodded, scooting out of the way so he could examine Andrew.   
"Do I want to know how this happened?" he asked, putting on a pair of gloves. He peered closely at the cut on Andrew's head. "Let me guess? Headboard collision." The doctor eyed your disheveled clothes suspiciously. You felt your entire body blush. Andrew, not catching on, answered him earnestly.  
"I lost my footing, fell into the dresser."  
The doctor's eyebrows shot up, he was almost amused.   
"Well now, look at you two, keeping that spark alive."   
"I was startled by something," Andrew added helpfully. The doctor bit his lip, suppressing a giggle.   
"Were you now?"   
"It just caught me off guard, I hadn't ever seen one before."  
"Oh." The doctor wasn't even trying to hid his grin now.   
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to mentally tell Andrew to please shut up.

A couple of hours later, with his forehead super glued back together, the two of you were finally back home. It was past three, now. You were exhausted. You eyed the destruction of your usually meticulously organized bedroom, and let out a small sigh. It would have to wait until morning, you tried to tell yourself. It only took you three seconds to realize that you would never be able to sleep in this chaos. You busied yourself with picking everything up. Realizing what you were doing, Andrew quietly began to help. You had just picked up the last item when you saw it, there on the bottom shelf. A large paperback graphic novel, Radioactive. You couldn’t help but laugh.  
“What is it?” Andrew asked you. You didn’t reply, instead you grabbed the book and stood up. You crossed the room, turning the lights off. Now, the book you held was glowing a bright eerie green.  
“Here’s your ghost,” you told him, turning the light back on. He stared in amusement and shock at the book.  
“It glows in the dark?” he asked slowly. You were almost bent over in laughter now, and he couldn’t help but join you.  
“The first night you sleep at my place, you nearly kill yourself over a book,” you managed between fits of laughter.  
“Why does it glow in the dark?” he demanded.  
“Because it’s about Marie Curie,” you explained, as patiently as you could at three a.m. “The radioactive elements she worked with glowed, and she liked that about them. It’s actually really good. Her and Pierre were soul mates, and he died tragically young.” You handed him the book. He looked over the cover with sudden interest.  
“Read it to me until I fall asleep?” he asked. You blinked at him, not amused.  
“Andrew, it’s almost four,” you told him. He leaned down, those big eyes of his wide with a mock indignation.  
“I almost died tonight,” he whispered dramatically. “Please, do me this small kindness.”  
You sighed, rolling your eyes at him as he handed you the book back.  
“Fine, fine. The minute you close your eyes, I’m going to stop reading,” you warned.  
The two of you climbed back into bed. He laid his head on your lap, and careful not to disturb his injury, you gently ran your fingers through his hair as you read. Every now and then, you glanced down to steal a look at him. What a clumsy idiot, you thought lovingly. He caught you that time, and his face turned upwards to smile back at you. Stooping down to kiss him, you were almost glad that the damn book glowed.


	3. Sunday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic fluff. Belated Valentine's Day fic, why not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't listened to "Sunday Morning" by Hamzaa, you should go do that.

You were dragged from your dreams by the cold, wet nose of your very persistent dog pushing into your leg. You groaned.   
“Mac, it’s not even daylight!” you whined. Mac would not be dissuaded. He leapt onto the bed, walking back and forth between you and Andrew. He put his enormous head in your face, whining desperately.   
“Mac,” Andrew mumbled, turning over and immediately falling back asleep. He was such a sound sleeper. Years of having to spend most nights on a crowded tour bus will do that to you. You shook him back awake. He opened one eye, looking at you with mild interest.   
“Andy, if you love me, you’ll let the dog out,” you begged. He sighed, closing his eyes as he thought about this.   
“Tough call,” he replied, sleepily. You gave him a playful shove.  
“Andrew!” He sighed, flipping the covers back.   
“Fine, but not for you. For Mac.” The dog bounced back and forth, thrilled to finally get what he wanted. You listened as Andrew led the dog through the house, letting him out the back door. You could hear Mac through the window now, running laps in his backyard, happily playing with the neighborhood birds. You smiled happily to yourself, snuggling back down into your blankets. You were determined to get a few more hours of sleep. A moment later, Andrew crawled back in beside you, pulling you into his lanky arms.   
“Is it too early to tell you happy Valentine’s Day?” he asked.   
“Way too early,” you answered, already half-asleep. His cheek rested against yours, his beard tickling your skin. He wove his long legs around yours. He fell asleep instantly, his breathing growing slow and steady. You were so jealous of his ability to drift off in an instant. His quiet snores filled the room. The weight of him pressed against you, the warmth of his breath was so soothing that once again you found yourself fast asleep. 

You woke slowly, stretching out in the bed. Andrew was gone. You could hear him in the kitchen, talking to Mac. Aretha Franklin played on the blutooth speaker. You lay there for a moment, letting yourself wake up fully. Finally, you could wait no longer. You padded down the hall in your bare feet. You stopped in the doorway, just to watch him for a minute. He was still in his sweats and t-shirt, his hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. He was offering a piece of bacon to Mac, and looking very serious about it. You felt your heart swell as you looked at him. These were the quiet moments when you knew; he was your person. The one you would choose over and over for the rest of your life.   
“Baby, I Love You” started playing on the speaker just as Andrew caught you watching him. He smirked at you, and started dancing along to the music. He was so hopelessly bad at dancing. He looked like one of those inflatable tubes at a used car lot, swaying his long body back and forth awkwardly. He started singing along, half-jokingly.  
“If you want my lovin’, if you really do. Don’t be afraid, baby. Just ask, you know I’m gonna give it to you.” Those thick eyebrows arched up suggestively, he gave you a wild grin.   
He was such a dork. You didn’t care, you couldn’t help but feel yourself being swept away. He swaggered over to you, shaking his shoulders to the music. When he was a step in front of you, he grabbed you suddenly, pulling you to him.  
“Baby, baby, baby, I love you,” he sang, leaning down to kiss you.   
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you murmured, breathing him in.   
“Go look outside,” he told you. He could barely hide the laughter in his voice. You leaned back, looking at him suspiciously.   
“What did you do?” you demanded. He just smiled. Pulling yourself away, you walked across the house to the front door. Andrew was right behind you, bouncing in excitement like a little kid. You opened the door cautiously, still weary of what he was so tickled about. The yard was almost completely covered by four foot tall plastic signs, each one in the shape of Betty White in a red dress. A large sign in front bore the message, “A Dozen Red Roses Just for You”. You couldn’t help but laugh. Golden Girls was your favorite show.  
“How romantic,” you teased him as you closed the door.   
“We can keep those up all year,” he joked. “They won’t wilt in a week like regular roses.”   
“I love them,” you said, kissing him. “You sure know how to woo a woman.”  
He brushed your hair behind your ear, those big hazel eyes gazing into you.  
“Oh, but I do,” he said, quietly. You couldn’t help it, your heart skipped a beat. “I know exactly how to win you over, darling.”   
He immediately got to work showing you how right that assumption was. He drew you a nice hot bath, scented with lavender. He even made a playlist of your favorite soothing love songs. You felt yourself drifting off once or twice, completely relaxed. By the time you got out, he had ordered lunch from your favorite Mexican restaurant. The two of you ate in the living room while you caught up on “Wandavision”. Still dozy from the bath, you leaned against him, your head resting on your chest. He ran your fingers through your hair. You knew that evening you would have the romantic dinner, and exchange gifts. But, you preferred this side of Valentine’s Day. The just being with him part, knowing how well he knew you, cared for you, loved for you. He put one finger under your chin, turning your face towards his so he could kiss you again. You smiled sleepily up at him, and snuggled back into his chest to finish watching the show. He wrapped his arms around you, and for a moment you were completely content.


End file.
